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Chicken Soup for the Bots

Saturday, 17 October 2009

So with the bots away (abseiling and down a mine respectively) for the week, I ran away to London to get my hair cut. I had every intention of a couple of elegant little blogs filed from there, but for all sorts of reasons, some technological, others involving vodka, it didn't happen. I did have a couple of meetings to while away the afternoons though.

I will spare you recent developments in Data Protection Legislation.

More interestingly, I invested in my first grown-up scarf, which is this one is you are as nosy as I am. Liberty was doing a pop-up collaboration or some such trendy nonsense with Hermes. Two of my favourite brands in a one-er, I thought. In fact it was complete bollocks. The scarves I saw looked as though someone had eaten a paint box and then thrown up on some rather itchy fabric. So I allowed myself to be taken through into the Scarf Room and talked into a more traditional pattern. I expect this means I have probably reached middle age. I expect it is this realisation that sent me screaming into the arms of several cocktails in some rather louche company later that evening.

Which sadly meant that I didn't get to the Maharaja exhibition at the V&A, but I think that you should go. It looks amazing and I will make time to nip in next week when I'm supposed to be at a conference.

Back to Planet Mummy yesterday. My son Freddie? Came home? Talking like this? At like his camp, yeah? There was this like mega-awsome guy? Called Spanner? Who like loved his stripy cool socks? This way of speaking takes so much longer than the way he used to speak last Sunday, so it took quite some time to hear that Spanner was really christened Simon and other riveting bits about this mystery teen who has so captured my lad's admiration. Freddie stank like a pole cat. He apparently wore the same pair of Spanner-blessed socks ALL WEEK. He then slept in his tracksuit and didn't bother wearing pants for the last two days. Horrible little beast.

Rose of course had showered every day and spent lots of time planning outfits from the 36,293 pieces of clothing she took Up North. They learned about smelting and electricity and Victorian ironwork. Nobody got Swine Flu but one person had Usual Flu. Rose was homesick for ten minutes on Tuesday until one of her friends sang her a Leona Lewis song. A new boy turned out to be a complete laugh and told them a brilliant story about how his mother once laughed so hard that she weed all over the sofa. I am very much looking forward to meeting her.

Both children? Came back with spare sweets and like voices like Eartha Kitt? They want to go to bed like sooooo soon? And don't care? About the X-Factor? They have asked for chicken soup? On the sofa? For supper?

Chicken Soup that Mends Everything*

Sling a whole chicken, bunch of parsley, onion, peppercorns and a couple of carrots into a pot, cover with water and simmer for a couple of hours then cool. Drain the stock off, pour back into the pan with a large chopped onion, diced potato and carrots. A parsnip is as exotic as you should get - there is no place here for butternut squash or anything else of that ilk. While the vegetables are cooking, strip the meat from the chicken carcass, chop and add to the broth. Serve with love.

*broken hearts, hurt feelings, struggles with hard sums. Not being picked for netball, not being picked for anything. The recession, global warming and terrorism.

Ten Tales Told: A Century of Peculiarly British Short Stories [Kindle Edition]

An eclectic, eccentric collection of ten stories, each set in a different decade, spanning the last century. Rich in colour and character, the stories examine betrayal of and by women in all its subtle forms.